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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560481">Misery Loves Company</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing'>Saber_Wing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Couch Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fever, Fluff, Fluff and Mush, Human Disaster Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Cuddles, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 18:35:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Tony wrinkled his nose, keeping the blankets on, but throwing one leg outside of them. If he was gonna be hot and cold, he at least wanted to do it right. “But, Steeb...”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re sick, sweetheart. You need to eat.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Tony parroted the words back to him, mustering the most mocking tone he could, under the circumstances. “You’re sick, sweetheart, you need to eat.” He drew out the word ‘eat’ for so long, it made his throat burn, and he ended the sentence in a paroxysm of coughs, muffling a moan into the couch cushions. </i>
</p><p>Tony is laid up with a sore throat, and feeling extra vulnerable. Steve is there to make it better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>360</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Misery Loves Company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/gifts">Captain_Panda</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My very good friend Captain_Pandamore asked for a cuddly sick fic the other day, and who am I to refuse? You have her to thank for this &lt;3. Also me, but mostly her. If you haven't had the pleasure of reading  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395511">One Man Army</a>, do yourself a favor. Give it a try! Don't let the length intimidate you (hah), it's worth every word.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony groaned, burrowing further under the two dozen throw blankets he’d dragged out of the living room closet. He sniffled, shivering, before kicking them back off with a huff. He couldn’t breathe out of his nose, couldn’t get comfortable. His throat was raw enough that he was <em>sure </em>someone shoved razor blades down it when he wasn’t paying attention. And Steve was off at some stupid meeting without him, when he should be <em>here, </em>bowing to Tony’s every whim.</p><p>Tony coughed into his sleeve, fumbling his phone off the end table by his head. He hit the first speed dial – for the twenty-seventh time that day, but who was counting? – dragging a few blankets off the floor and back onto the couch. The other end of the line rang a few times before finally, <em>finally </em>being picked up.</p><p>“Steeb,” Tony sniffled. “<em>Steeb!”</em></p><p><em>“I’m here, doll,”</em> Steve soothed from the other end, heaving a sigh. <em>“You know this couldn’t wait, or I’d have put it off. How are you feeling?”</em></p><p>“How do I sound like I’m fucking feeling?” His words were thick, nasally. The end of every other phrase sounded like a ‘b,’ and it was <em>stupid. </em>Why weren’t Steve and his moronic face here? “Like I’m dying, which I am. Honestly, a man on his death bed asks the love of his life for one thing, and he runs off to S.H.I.E.L.D.”</p><p>Steve sighed. <em>“Tony...”</em></p><p>“It’s fine. I know where I stand. I know where I am on your list of priorities.”</p><p><em>“Don’t shout.”  </em>Tony could <em>hear</em> Steve rubbing his temples. <em>“You’ll hurt your throat.”</em></p><p>“<em>Breathing</em> hurts my throat. You’re not special.”</p><p>Steve chuckled – it made Tony smile, despite himself.</p><p>He knew he was being a bear. He just didn’t have the extra energy it took to give a shit. Especially when his other half was <em>working, </em>and he was <em>dying, </em>thank you very much.</p><p>
  <em>“I’m gonna stop off at that restaurant you like and get you some soup. I want you to at least try to eat it, okay? You haven’t had anything since that broth yesterday.”</em>
</p><p>Tony wrinkled his nose, keeping the blankets on, but throwing one leg outside of them. If he was gonna be hot <em>and </em>cold, he at least wanted to do it right. “But, <em>Steeb...”</em></p><p>
  <em>“You’re sick, sweetheart. You need to eat.”</em>
</p><p>Tony parroted the words back to him, mustering the most mocking tone he could, under the circumstances. “You’re <em>sick, </em>sweetheart, you need to <em>eat.”  </em>He drew out the word ‘eat’ for so long, it made his throat burn, and he ended the sentence in a paroxysm of coughs, muffling a moan into the couch cushions.</p><p>Steve made a soft, sympathetic sound. <em>“Aww, honey...”</em></p><p>“Don’t ‘honey’ me. Just come home.” Tony had enough presence of mind to be pissed off about the tears burning behind his eyes, but not quite pathetic enough to give in. Crying over strep throat. What was he, <em>six? </em>God, he hated being sick. It always made him weepy.</p><p><em>“Okay, okay. Give me thirty minutes. I just need to stop off to get your soup, and then I’ll be there. I promise.” </em>His voice was warm, soothing. <em>“You trust me?”</em></p><p>Tony sniffled again, and it wasn’t wet. It <em>wasn’t.</em> “...uh-huh.” Even to him, he just sounded <em>sad.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Good. You just sit tight, get some sleep. I’ll be there before you know it.”</em>
</p><p>Tony mumbled something that might have been an affirmative, then tossed his phone back on the table, burying his face into the corner of the couch. He <em>really </em>couldn’t breathe then, and it made his chest ache more, so he rolled onto his side instead, clutching the blankets closer and wishing they were the man he loved.</p><p>Tony did end up drifting off, though he wasn’t entirely sure for how long. Slowly, he became aware of fingers combing through his hair. A cold cloth: divine, pressed gently to his forehead. He made a low, inquisitive noise. Leaned into the hand sliding down his face, cupping his cheek.</p><p>Steve pressed his lips to Tony’s forehead. Gave a dismayed little hum. “You’re really warm.”</p><p>Tony blinked up at him, dazed. He must have looked out of it, because Steve's eyebrows creased with worry. He frowned. “You already had some Motrin a while ago. I don’t wanna give you more on an empty stomach. Sit up for me?”</p><p>Why <em>up?  </em>Up was <em>terrible. </em>He tried to glare at Steve, but he couldn’t get his eyes to focus well enough. He ended up settling for something between a pout and an angry smolder.</p><p>Steve’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to eat all of it. Just a little bit, hmm?” He brushed Tony’s sweaty hair back. Pressed the cloth more securely against his skin. “How ‘bout it, Shellhead? For me?”</p><p>Tony whined, but levered himself up, stopping to press a hand to his forehead when he felt faint. He’d moved too fast. “...’kay.” His voice had the consistency of gravel in a woodchipper, but it got the point across.</p><p>Steve was quick to support him. He let Tony lean back against his chest; held the bowl for him as Tony spooned it into his mouth with shaking hands. It didn’t taste like much – he couldn’t taste <em>anything – </em>but it was warm, and the broth soothed his hurting throat.</p><p>Tony managed about half of it before he grimaced and pushed it away, and Steve seemed satisfied. He gave him his fever reducers and lay him back down, soaking the makeshift compress in more cold water.</p><p>Tony’s eyes fluttered when Steve re-placed it on his forehead, moaning with relief.</p><p>Steve smiled softly, caressing his cheek with a thumb. “Better?”</p><p>“I forgive you,” Tony ground from his shredded throat. “Even though you abandoned me. I’m a merciful God.” His stupid, stuffy nose made the words come out funny, and Tony was sure it distracted from his point.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a yes.” Steve chuckled softly, wrapping up Tony’s blanket burrito exactly the way he liked it – still with one leg out, of course. “You sleep now, sweetheart. Okay?”</p><p>Tony’s eyes burned. He <em>really </em>didn’t feel good.</p><p>He wanted <em>Steve. </em></p><p>“Lay with me?” Tony reached for him. Tugged on his shirt with shaking hands.</p><p>Steve’s reply was tender. A balm, for his aching <em>everything. </em>“Darlin’, you don’t even have to ask.”</p><p>There was no way it could be comfortable for Steve. He had to feel Tony shaking. Feel his heated skin, even through the blankets, but he didn’t seem to pay it any mind. He just wrapped his arms around Tony. Pulled him to his chest and held him close. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”</p><p>Why <em>was </em>Steve still here?</p><p>Tony was terrible when he was sick. He was whiny, needy. Downright <em>nasty</em> to everyone around him<em>. </em>He’d been a literal garbage pail to Steve for days, and yet, here he was, waiting on him hand and foot. Making him feel safe.</p><p>Steve curled around Tony, facing him. Resting his chin on top of his head.</p><p>He could always sense when Tony wanted to feel small. When he wanted to hide from the world in the circle of his arms.</p><p>Tony swallowed hard. His voice came out choked. Tearful. “’m sorry.”</p><p>Steve made a distressed little noise at the back of his throat. “What for?”</p><p>“I’m such an <em>asshole. </em>I don’t know why you put up with me.<em>”</em></p><p>“Shh...” He kissed the top of Tony’s head. Rubbed the back of his neck with a thumb. “You’re sick. It’s okay.”</p><p>“<em>No! </em>It’s not okay. That doesn’t make it okay.” And oh <em>fuck, </em>Tony was crying now, his breaths jerky and stuttering. “I understand if you wanna be...<em>not </em>here. You should go. I’m stupid. I’m being <em>mean.</em>”</p><p>“Hey now, don’t talk about my husband that way.”</p><p>That did draw a tiny chuckle out of Tony, which he knew was the point. But it just made him feel worse about the whole thing. Steve was so <em>great. </em></p><p>Tony bit his lip. Couldn’t quite manage to stifle a sob.</p><p>“Hey, I’m here. Of course, I’m here.” Steve turned onto his back, pulling Tony with him, flush against his chest, head over his heart. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”</p><p>Tony wrapped both arms around Steve, burying his face in the fabric of his shirt. And no, he couldn’t breathe, but it wiped away the tears.</p><p>He sniffed. “I don’t deserve you.”</p><p>Steve voice was barely higher than a whisper. Gentle as a lullaby. “You deserve more than I could ever give to you.” He dipped his head. Kissed him softly. “I love you.”</p><p>And through it all -- the pain in his throat. His stupid, stuffy nose. The drumbeats pounding in his skull. The fevers, that reached new heights and always made him cry. Through all of that, Steve managed to cut to the heart of him. Make Tony feel loved when he hated himself.</p><p>He wasn’t okay. Not now. But he would be.</p><p>Tony could be a little weak, if Steve was there to keep him company.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Steeb." You can pry that from my cold, dead fingers. Just so you know.</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26888236">For Forever</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda">Captain_Panda</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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